Dolore
by CountingWithTurkeys
Summary: She's immortal, not invincible. Not that this reality will ever stop her from protecting the woman she loves.


**Disclaimer: All of my stories exist within the same universe/continuity - The Symphony Universe - which exists within main canon in a "possible but not necessarily probable" manner. They're just not posted chronologically, because where's the fun in that? All stories contain at least one reference to a future story, because I roll that way. They often contain references to past stories. They also usually hint where they happen within the canon continuity. I like hints.**

 **Content Warnings:**

 **Description of an injury (not graphic by my standards, but it's rated Teen for a reason)**

 **Light implication of survivor's guilt**

* * *

Nails trace down cool, grey skin.

"You knew better."

A shudder. "I know." A quiet murmur, full of trepidation. Full of something darker.

"What were you thinking?" A question, asked sweetly in an attempt to hide the bitterness underneath.

Hesitation. "I wasn't." The admission is almost a whimper, the voice's owner wincing at how weak she sounds. Pitiful.

A single nail trails over her neck and traces her jaw line. "You knew better." A factual statement once more, free from animosity, free from acidity. No room for argument.

More hesitation. "...I know." And she does. Deep in her core, she knows. She's trapped and she's guilty and knows it, there on the cold floor. There's nothing she can do about it, and she knows that as well.

A single pink finger slides under, lifting her head gingerly until garnet eyes meet green. Those piercing eyes see her, see through her. The grey-skinned woman lets her, opens herself to that striking gaze, allows the feeling of having her very soul probed, almost welcomes it as proof of her sincerity. Against her better judgment she gulps, but she knows this could be worse.

"You scared me. I thought something happened to you."

She flinches, deserving that pained tone in the speaker's voice. It's what she gets for acting without thinking, for letting those deep instinctive desires overrule what little understanding of logic she has. "I'm sorry, Bon." It's sincere, it's heartfelt, it's all she can think to say. She's surrounded by rubble. Rubble and blood. They both are.

Now the other woman's hand comes to rest on her cheek. She won't allow her to turn away, won't let her surrender to the compulsion to do so. "Why?" It's not an inquiry as to why the melodic voice is sorry, it's a demand to know what she was thinking, what could possibly possess her to-

The response comes without thought. "I had to protect you."

Now it's the green-eyed woman's turn to flinch, and a soft whimper escapes the grey-skinned monarch before she can silence herself. She tenses, wanting to run, wanting to stay, not knowing what she needs. And so she surrenders to instinct once more, because some deep part of her knows she's done enough damage for one day, to both of them. What good is protecting the pink woman from physical danger if she's just going to run when the time comes to face the consequences?

The pink hand shifts to the back of her grey neck, rubbing soothingly. All thoughts of running melt away. Traitors.

"Can you move?" It's almost a plead. No, it _is_ a plead.

That hurts the vampire more than her broken body. "I think so. Soon." She offers her companion a soft smile. It doesn't fool her. She's not that lucky.

She doesn't get the chance to try to make good on her claim before soft, feminine arms are pulling her into a tight embrace. It stings the queen's poorly mended body, but she knows they both need this. "I thought I lost you," the younger woman whispers.

Those five words mean so much more than their literal intention: That Bonnibel thought she was alone again; Thought she had caused the death of the only person that ever cared about her for her; Thought she felt her heart shatter. Because although the grey-skinned woman is plagued with insecurity and self-doubt the pink-skinned woman has her own predilections. Her compulsion for absolute control wasn't born from nothing. Bonnibel's childhood's very fabric is mistrust and suspicion, mixed with her frightening intellect and curiosity. That combination is a dangerous thing, makes her overactive mind too vigilant. It wants to solve puzzles, needs to know how things work, and in the absence of acceptable stimulus it'll tear itself apart. She'll tear herself apart.

The older woman tries to sit up, tries to return the embrace, but her head rushes, her eyes blur, and it's only through the younger woman's quick reflexes that she's caught before she can crack open her freshly healed skull on the hard ground. "Shh… here." By the time the wave of dizziness passes the half-demonic woman finds that she's laying down again, head rested against a soft chest. "Comfy?"

The musician tries to nod, but that just causes more dizziness. Instead she curls closer as best she can. The embrace around her tightens and she doesn't know what to say, is at a loss for words.

But the candy golem isn't. "You could have died, Marcy." There it is: the 'D' word, whispered with a potent blend of disgust and heartbreak.

"I told ya, Bon. Only four things can gank a vampire." A poor attempt at a joke, a vain effort to take the reality out of the situation. Because the candy golem is still covered in her blood, her cheeks are stained with tears that aren't quite dry yet, and she's trembling.

"You could have died," she repeats, the tremor reaching her voice now. Her mental reserves have exhausted by now, and she tightens her hold on the other woman, nails trailing down her neck, her back, thrilled with the resulting shudder, because if Marceline is squirming from such a light touch she has to be okay. Because Truly Dead bodies don't squirm, they don't move, they just lie there, covered in blood, covered in-

"Hey." It's gentle, understanding, and the half-demon nuzzles closer. Bonnie's heartbeat always reassured her that the younger woman was alive and well. The fact she had nothing like that to offer in return eats at her. "It's okay, Bon. See? I'm just gonna be sore and dizzy for a little while. I'll be alright, you dork."

It's playful, but Bonnibel isn't listening. She's looking up at the sky, where there was once a ceiling, once solid stone that was nice and grey and secure but oh that wasn't good enough for Bonnibel. Oh no, she had to improve the design, had to strengthen it, increase its durability before she started on the next floor up. It wasn't a spur of the moment choice. She did the math, checked the physics, everything was _perfect,_ designed and implemented with precision. It had been a controlled demolition, controlled until it wasn't. Because hubris is a funny thing, and that carefully constructed plan backfired when the stone broke against a steel beam that wasn't in the original design, shouldn't have been there, sending them both crashing to the ground. The next thing Bonnibel knew she was fine, literally flung out of the vicinity by an immense telekinetic force. But Marceline wasn't fine because Marceline's abdomen had been impaled by that solid steel beam, her skull caved in from the force of the strike and Bonnibel's crumbling home, because flying is great, but it's the landing that does you in. Her abdomen had wept deeply, dead maroon blood pooling over her, skull gone almost through her eye, taking half her jaw with it. And then she was still, she was silent, she was prone and she looked so small and helpless. Like she had always been a corpse, and nature was just fixing its oversight.

Bonnibel's numbness came later. She doesn't remember how she got the beam out, or the desperate vanity of trying to push the rubble off of the one person in her life that mattered, had ever really mattered (had she ever told her that?), trying not to lose her lunch as she scanned for bone fractures, anything she could do besides sit next to her uselessly. But Bonnibel doesn't remember that. She just recalls her mind, that logical part at least, trying to reassure her that only four things can gank a vampire, so it's impossible for impalation or a skull injury to Truly Kill her. But then there was that cruel, heartless part of her, that cold logical center of her mind, taunting her that she didn't know _for sure_ that was true, because Marceline may be the reason for the lack of vampires in the world but it wasn't like the Vampire King left her a how-to manual. He could have been wrong. Or lying.

And then there was guilt. So much guilt. Because as strong as that telekinetic force was it was obviously ill-equipped to repel both her _and_ the chaos raining from the sky, and Marceline had made her choice, her stupid _stupid_ choice to prioritize the younger woman over herself. So much guilt, because the older woman had warned her, told her that there is no such thing as controlled chaos, and once you let it out you can only hope it goes the way you want (and if demolition isn't an attempt to control chaos, then what is?). Only now did Bonnibel understand that Marceline hadn't been there just for moral support. She had _known_ that something was going to go horribly wrong, but Bonnibel Just Wouldn't Listen.

All the scientist could do was wait next to her mangled friend and hold her hand, beg her to wake up, because she had never felt so weak, so helpless before in her entire life. And so she promised her friend all the things she would do and all the things she would tell her if she would just wake up. Promises she could keep, promises she wasn't sure were even possible. Told her she loved her, not knowing herself if she meant it platonically or something much deeper, not caring in the slightest because she Had Bigger Problems. Besides, deep down, where she told herself secrets where no one else could hear, she already knew the answer. And so she just sat there, holding the limp, grey hand tight enough that she surely broke it from the force of her despair.

The groan was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard in her entire life. She had been so lost in her anguish the force of her snapping back to reality almost gave her whiplash, but as she stared in awe Marceline's skull began to repair itself. It was agonizingly slow, and she couldn't begin to fathom how much it must hurt, but she was _healing_ , truly and really healing. With a groan she snapped her jaw back into alignment, letting her teeth set themselves to their proper order. Repairing the skull fracture took longer, her eye socket felt like a hot poker was driving through it, but the more she worked the more her nerves stopped flipping out, started to calm down. It was some time later before she had the strength to smash the rubble, freeing herself, fueled by the sheer need to stop Bonnie's crying, the sound she hated more than anything else in the world.

That was at least an hour ago. Now her skull is mended, though the same can't be said of the rest of her, because healing takes energy and although she's loathe to admit it she's spent. She fades in and out of consciousness, trying to listen as Bonnie alternates between blaming her for the vampire's stupidity in saving her and blaming herself for putting her queen in that position in the first place. There's too much blame, and the half-demon knows the candy woman; she's going to spiral, she's going to shut down. Marceline nuzzles her as much as she dares, but it's enough to snap the younger woman out of her toxic thoughts. "Hey, Bon… it'll be alright. It'll take a lot more than a pipe thing to take me out." The words are playful but her voice is strained, and neither has the heart to point out that she's _incredibly_ lucky neither the rubble nor the beam took her head off, because while she can survive crushing she _can't_ survive decapitation.

Still, the words have the intended effect, and Bonnie begins to relax, withdrawing her hand to lace their fingers. She almost doesn't want to relax, wants to feed that cycle and punish herself for almost wasting her best friend, but it's always near-impossible to resist Marceline's ability to soothe her. She relents when she justifies to herself that she needs to be strong for her grievously injured friend, that Marceline can't recover if she's focusing on her. They fall into a silence so comfortable Marceline almost nods off, but the whisper snaps her awake. "I was so scared, Marcy." She opens a garnet eye but doesn't interrupt. The candy golem is stroking her back with her free hand, rubbing soothing circles. It's not helping her stay awake, but there's no way she's missing this. "I didn't know if you were coming back. If you even _can_ come back from something like that. You were unconscious for so long… and…" She trails off, but that's for the best. It's not a good trail.

Marceline has a better one, and though her voice is strained from her head injury neither draws attention to it. "You know… I'm the lucky one, Bon. If I'm ever worried about you… well, you have a heartbeat. It's nice and steady. It's strong. If I hear it I know you're okay. But I don't…" Now it's her turn to trail off. But not for long, because in a rare moment of forethought she has an idea. "Hey." She waits until their eyes meet once more. "It's not really easy for me to make my heart beat whenevs… but I could do something else. You know. So you know I'm not…" She stops just short of saying "Truly Dead", but the message is loud and clear.

"Like what?" Bonnie sounds exactly like she's trying not to be hopeful, and in its own messed up way it's endearing.

The answer seems obvious, but only in retrospect. "How about breathing? I already do that for talking and singing, so it's not totes hard. Then you know I'm okay. Or… will be. You know."

Bonnibel ponders this for a moment. Then she smiles. A genuine smile, full of relief and affection. "...Yeah. I like that. Can you do that if you're unconscious?"

The vampire means to shrug, but her body screams in protest and she grimaces. It only encourages the candy golem to pull her closer, and she doesn't exactly argue. But the inquisitive tone is beginning to creep back into Bonnibel's voice where it belongs, and Marceline isn't ashamed to admit she missed it. Not that she'd tell her that. Ever. "Don't see why not. One, I'm awesome, two, breathing's already something I do like a habit sometimes."

Just as the young scientist means to scold the older woman for her attempting to make light of the fact that her body is still broken the musician yawns, and the beratement turns into an affectionate smile. "You need to rest, Marcy. I know healing takes a lot out of you, and you're still hurt."

She rolls her eyes, but Bonnibel had already suspected she wouldn't go easily. The younger woman already knows exactly what's going to happen next. "You seriously want to spend the next forever down here waiting for me to get my act together?"

She knows what the hidden subtext is: you have more important things to do. Because self-deprecation is innate to the vampire, and it's a preoccupation the scientist has yet to find a way to break. But she had anticipated this and kissed the top of her forehead, the one area of her skull not fractured or impaled. "Do you have enough energy to shapeshift? It would be easy to make it back to my cabin then."

Marceline hesitates, honestly unsure. When she bites her lip, the fang easily piercing the flesh, Bonnibel squeezes her hand. "Nothing complex, Marcy. Just the easiest form you can take, and just for a little while. The cabin isn't far."

With an uncertain sigh the vampire nods weakly, unable to resist wincing at the pain. "...I got it. I think."

Within moments she had a new form: a small grey bat, teeny fangs sticking out of the puff that was its fur, two garnet eyes squinting. The easiest form for her to take and maintain, because she's adamant that apparently being a bat Just Feels Right. It took every ounce of restraint for Bonnibel to resist calling her adorable or some synonym of because, really, she is. Nevertheless, she can't resist gently picking her up, rubbing her fuzzy cheek, smiling when the bat curls into itself. "Aw… little bat." The small mammal squints at her once more, but the younger woman's body warm and the steady beat of her heart finally overpower her, and she's asleep within moments.

True to her promise, soft breath and a gentle rise and fall to her fluffy chest accompany Bonnibel on her journey back to her cabin. She barely notices the length of the trek or its scenery, only just enough to be grateful that the sun set long before, granting her safe passage through the Grasslands as she murmurs promises to her sleeping companion, ideas about scavenging the nearby ruins once she's healed enough. She grew up a scavenger, and Marceline had never been shy that she thought it was 'pretty righteous'. Bonnibel called herself a scavenger, but Marceline preferred the term 'treasure hunter'. Perhaps 'treasure hunting' would be a good way to celebrate her recovery. After all, bond reaffirmation, the re-cementing of affection and establishment of relationship ties are healthy and essential courses of action after tragedy.

The young woman is unable to resist glancing down at the bundle in her arms every few minutes. Just in case. By the time she makes it home and she's yawning, has never been so happy to see her cabin. Never been happier to see her bed. At first she considers making a small box for Marceline to sleep in, but ultimately decides against it, because if there was ever a time she needed to feel her, hold her, touch her, it's now. And so with only a quick pause to cover her curtain she settles on her bed, back against the headboard. It'll make it easier to keep an eye on her passenger.

Preparing for bed while holding a fuzzy, flying, heavily injured vampire is difficult, but Bonnibel is nothing but stubborn and she finds a way.

Now in her nightgown she rests the half-demon on top of her chest; just as the steady heartbeat soothes Marceline the sound of her soft breathing soothes Bonnibel. Despite her fatigue pink fingers gingerly trail down soft grey fur, rubbing a fuzzy ear until the musician seems to melt. The free hand reaches over, slowly so as not to awake her, grasps the thick pink blanket, and drapes it over her. "There… nice and comfy." The petting hand stills, wrapping around her back, preparing to rest there for the evening. "Sweet dreams, my little bat."

Under the blanket, snug and warm, the sleeping bat smiles as her body knits itself whole.


End file.
